The fraction of a second the Germans stood in front of the door trying to swing it open was all Kowalski, Pierre, and Henri needed. Their three weapons fired as one. A deadly hail of lead slammed into the two German sentries, their bodies jerking like spastic drunks before collapsing in a jumbled heap. The three men dragged the dead bodies out of the way. Kowalski and Pierre rushed through the doorway, while Henri guarded the exit.
“Did you hear that, Marcel?” asked Andre, anxiety heavy in his voice.
“Stay calm, Andre,” said Marcel. “These Americans know what they are doing. Our place is here. We watch, and if any Nazis come this way, they will join their two friends in the woods.”
Andre jumped as he heard the explosions inside the villa. What in the name of God was going on in there?
“Bull!” Santora yelled.
“It’s okay, Sarge! We have the foyer,” Heinemann called back.
Santora eased through the doorway. “Wilkins, watch the hallway behind us.”
He edged along the wall toward Heinemann, seeing the dead bodies around him, glad none wore American uniforms. Just as he reached Heinemann, Jennings and Adler showed up.
“All downstairs rooms are clear,” Jennings said. “We ran into Kowalski and one of the Frenchies. He’s staying back there just in case.”
Santora glanced into the destroyed radio room.
“Don’t worry, Sarge,” Heinemann said. “The boys hit the radio room so fast the Krauts never had a chance to get a message out.”
“Good,” Santora responded. “What about the men we’re here for?”
Bull pointed upstairs, but before he could say a word, they heard more gunfire, followed by O’Connell’s yelling from the top of the staircase. “We’re pinned down up here!”
Santora took off for the staircase. He hit every other step, jamming a new magazine into his Thompson.
Santora stopped at the landing where the stairs turned right and crawled the rest of the way. When he reached the top he remained crouched below the level of the floor. He called out to O’Connell and Giordano, “I’m at the top of the stairs!”
O’Connell fired a burst down the hallway, then slapped a fresh magazine into his submachine gun. “Maybe three Krauts in the last room on the left. No other doors have opened. The Kraut guarding the room where our pickups are is behind a big statue at the end on the right.” Santora heard Giordano let loose with his Thompson.
Santora crept to the top step and peeked over the edge. He saw the statue the German guard was crouched behind. There was a large well-worn leather chair next to the door where the enemy soldiers must have spent most of their time on guard duty. It was riddled by gunfire, bleeding white puffs of material.
O’Connell and Giordano waited for the enemy’s next move. They heard the sounds of scraping and banging.
“Sarge, look.” Giordano gestured with his weapon.
The three Americans watched as the end of a large wooden bureau laying on its side slowly appeared in the doorway. It stopped. Then it started to move again. Once it had been pushed completely into the hallway it stopped again. More scraping and banging. A long heavy-looking desk of dark wood banged against the bureau.
“These guys are making a blockade across the hallway, Sarge,” said O’Connell.
“Giordano!” Santora called. “Can you pitch a grenade into the doorway on the left?”
“Can’t guarantee it, Sarge.”
“Then get ready. We go on three. You set, Paddy?”
“Ready, Sarge,” O’Connell said.
“One.” The sound of more furniture being moved toward the doorway.
“Two.” Another piece of furniture emerged. The improvised blockade was only four feet from hitting the opposite wall. Once that happened the Germans could reach the room where the scientist and his assistant were hiding.
“Three!”
O’Connell shifted his Thompson and let loose. Santora fired, sweeping the muzzle back and forth across the hallway. Spent shell casings from the Americans’ weapons sailed through the air, skidding across the marble floor. A large window at the end of the hallway shattered, the curtains waving in a rush of cold air. Santora caught a glimpse of a grenade sailing through the air. A second grenade quickly followed. All three Americans dropped to the floor and covered their heads. The explosions occurred so closely that it sounded like one long blast. Santora scrambled. “Move! Move!”
O’Connell and Giordano vaulted over the shot-up furniture to get to the doorway on the left. They emptied their magazines into the smoke-filled room. At the same time, Santora fired a burst into the dazed German who had been guarding the scientists. The enemy soldier slammed against the wall and slid to the floor.
O’Connell and Giordano came out of the room across the hall, loading fresh magazines into their weapons. “Found three Krauts in there that ain’t never gonna salute the Fuehrer again, Sarge.”
Santora rapped the door with the butt of his Thompson. “Dr. Gautier? Are you in there? We’re Americans! We’re here to get you out!” The lock turned. The door opened a crack. An eye wearing glasses peeked out.
“Américains? Vraiment?”
“Oui, docteur. Nous devons nous dépêcher!” Santora said. “Do you speak English?”
The door opened, exposing a small-framed man with longish gray hair. Behind him stood a younger man, his lips trembling.
“Oui, I mean, yes, I do speak English. Thank God you have come!”
“Doctor, we must leave right now.”
“Yes, of course. Our bags are ready.”
“Doctor, we don’t have time to drag your bags with us.”
“Please! It is my work!”
“C’mon Sarge. We gotta get out of here,” O’Connell said.
Santora wiped his hand across his face. He was having a hard time making these men understand the danger was by no means over. “Paddy, you and Giordano each grab a bag. We’ll let the captain figure this out.”
“What the hell is taking so long?” shouted Heinemann.
O’Connell and Giordano rushed down the staircase followed by Dr. Gautier and Maurice Durand, with Santora bringing up the rear. They hit the foyer just as Newmont entered through the front door with Dalton.
Newmont looked at the bags O’Connell and Giordano were carrying. “What’s with those?”
“Forgive me, Captain,” said Gautier. “We must take them with us. It is what we have been working on. Without these papers we have nothing.”
Newmont wasn’t sure the Lysander had room to take both Frenchmen and their bags. He would let the pilot make the call.
“One more thing, Captain. We have test subjects. They must go with us also,” said Maurice Durand.
“We were told to bring you two out. Now you have us bringing your bags. We do not have room for anything else!”
The old man crossed his arms. “Then we do not go! If we leave our test subjects we lose years of work!”
“Sergeant!” said Newmont. “Get our men outside and set up a defensive perimeter. Keep Team Five where they are. Send two more Resistance men to reinforce their position. If we get surprised by more Germans we’ll escape through the woods. I want that path clear, understand? And send Renaurd and the other three Frenchmen to the meadow to set up the torches and wait for the pickup plane. We’ll meet them there as soon as we can.” Newmont glared at Dr. Gautier. “And it won’t be long.”
Once the villa was secured, Santora dispatched Renaurd to the meadow along with Philippe, Vincent, and Henri. They waited until they heard the airplane’s engine in the distance, then lit four small torches to outline the landing strip in the dark field. As the sound of the engine grew louder, Renaurd listened intently.
“What is it, Renaurd?” Philippe asked.
“The engine. It does not sound right.”
“There!” Henri pointed at a shadow just above the tree line.
Suddenly the engine noise stopped and the dark shape dropped quickly toward the gras
s. “Too fast,” Renaurd said. He had rendezvoused with many Lysanders and none had ever shut the engine before landing. Something was wrong.
The aircraft was getting harder to keep in the air. The engine was on the verge of cutting out, and it was by the grace of God that Stirling was able to keep it running. Using his map, watch, and compass he had gotten back on course after his chance encounter with what he believed was a German fighter. Stirling checked his map again. His landing area should be ahead and to the right. He dipped the starboard wing and saw four tiny lights.
He pulled back on the power and banked to the right, the airplane dropping toward the field. A loud bang erupted from the engine compartment as wisps of smoke escaped from the cowling.
The Lysander was almost over the first pair of torches when the engine stopped and the big propeller ground to a halt. Stirling’s airplane was no more than a heavy glider now. Without altitude or power there was no maneuvering room. He simply tried to keep it straight between the torches.
The aircraft smacked the ground heavily, creaking and groaning, and bounced back in the air, settled down, and bounced again, before rolling through the grass while Stirling stood on the brakes.
The airplane rocked to a halt, the tail rising, almost nosing over before it slammed back down on the tail wheel. Black smoke poured from the engine. Stirling pushed the canopy open and climbed out of the cockpit with his map and compass in hand.
The four Resistance fighters rushed to the plane. “Are you hurt, monsieur?” asked Renaurd.
“Only my pride, my friend.” Stirling pulled off his leather flying cap and threw it to the ground in disgust.
“Your airplane, she is finished, oui?” said Renaurd.
“She is finished, oui,” Stirling answered.
The other Frenchmen doused the torches and stashed them in the bushes. “What do we do now, Renaurd?” Henri asked.
“We will destroy the airplane later. For now, we must get back to the American captain. He will decide what we shall do next.”
“Doctor,” Newmont said. “We are leaving in five minutes. If you refuse to come, I will shoot you. If I leave you here I must guarantee that you will be of no use to the Nazis.”
“Please, Captain, just listen,” said Gautier. “We must take our test subjects with us. Without them the Nazis will not be able to restart the project!”
Newmont had to at least see these test subjects. If he could not take them along then he had to destroy them. “Doctor, I will look at them and decide. But no guarantees, understand?”
“Oui, oui, Capitaine! Merci! Merci beaucoup! I will take you to them.”
Newmont, Wilkins, Gautier, and Durand entered the courtyard. Newmont stared, unsure what he was looking at. At first glance they could be bears, but the bodies were more streamlined, like human beings. The largest was just over six feet tall and around 300 pounds. The facial features were definitely more human.
“What are they, doctor?” he said.
“These, Capitaine, are what we have been experimenting on since the Germans forced us to work for them.
Newmont heard combat boots pounding down the walkway. He saw Heinemann coming toward him.
“Captain!” said Heinemann. “The Frenchies are back from the meadow. And the Limey pilot is with them.”
“What the hell are they doing back here? I told them we would meet them at the landing site!” Newmont looked at his watch and shook his head. They should have been out of the villa and watching the plane leave with its human cargo ten minutes ago.
“Bull, stay here with Wilkins,” he commanded. “And you two,” he said, pointing at Gautier and Durand, “be ready to move when I get back. No arguments or I’ll make sure there’s nothing left of any of you for the Krauts to use!”
Newmont ran back to the villa, passing through the wrecked foyer and out to the garden where the group from the meadow stood.
“What the hell are all of you doing here?” he said. “You were supposed to stay with the plane and wait for us.”
Stirling spoke up. “Sorry to say, Captain, but no one is leaving in my airplane. Got hit by a German night fighter. Took quite a bit of damage. I was lucky to make it here.” He gave Newmont a salute. “Flight Lieutenant Trevor Stirling, RAF, reporting in, sir.”
What was Newmont supposed to do now? Gautier had a bigger load than he was prepared for, and he had a pilot without an airplane. He needed bigger transportation and at the same time had lost the only transportation he had planned on. His gaze fell upon the German transport off in the distance.
“Stirling, can you fly that?” he asked.
Stirling’s eyes locked on the Ju 52 parked on the grass near the villa. He hesitated. “I could try, Captain. Never flew one before but I do have some time in dual engine aircraft. Is there an alternative?”
“Yeah, Kraut grub in a POW camp until the war is over.”
“Then I better get ready to fly. Never been fond of German food.”
Newmont turned to Renaurd. “Take your men and go with him. Do whatever he tells you. We need to get out of here immediately.” He asked Stirling, “Do you know any German?”
“Sorry, Captain. Nothing useful, I’m afraid.”
“Adler, you speak German, don’t you?”
“Yes, sir,” Adler replied. “It’s mostly what my parents spoke.”
“Flight Lieutenant Stirling is going to try to fly that German plane. Go with him. He may need help translating the words on the instruments and in the cockpit.”
Santora had arrived during the conversation. “You heard all that, Sergeant?” Newmont asked.
“Yes, sir, I did. A bold plan I must say, sir.”
“Sergeant, we’re going to try to fly a German airplane with German markings to England. What are the chances you can find something to cover up those markings so our own people don’t shoot us out of the sky?”
“I’m on it, sir.”
“And Sergeant,” Newmont added, “I need this done five minutes ago.”
“Yes, sir.” Santora rushed toward the Ju 52, calling for Jennings and Kowalski to join him.
Newmont surveyed the scene. “If this works, it will be a miracle.”
Stirling climbed through the cargo door of the Ju 52 and found himself in a stark and empty fuselage. All seats had been removed so it could be packed with supplies, the very supplies that had been removed by the Germans and placed in a large camouflage tent nearby. He entered the cockpit and slid onto the left seat. Adler stuck his head in. “What do you need me to do, sir?”
“Sit down. We need to decipher these instruments, levers, everything.”
“Sir, I’m not a pilot. Never even been in a cockpit before now.”
“Don’t worry, I’ll do the flying. If I need something that I don’t recognize you’ll be able to pick it out from all this German gibberish for me, yes?” Stirling asked.
“I suppose so, sir.” Adler’s hands trembled.
While Stirling and Adler worked their way through the cockpit, Santora, Jennings, and Kowalski dug through the camouflage storage tent near the landing strip.
“I’m not seeing any paint here, Sarge,” Jennings said.
“Keep looking!” Santora pawed through boxes and crates stacked against the walls.
“Hey, Sarge! Got a couple cans of heavy grease here. Think that will work?” Kowalski called out.
Santora stuck his finger in one, pulled it out and wiped it over some German markings on the side of a large steel drum. The thick black grease did a pretty good job of covering the markings.
“I think it’s the best we’re going to come up with,” Santora said. Kowalski and Jennings each grabbed a can and started out of the tent. Santora saw a pair of mops in the corner. He snatched them up and took off after Jennings and Kowalski.
Heinemann and Wilkins stood in silence. Dr. Gautier and Maurice Durand entered the cell and spoke soothingly to the creatures while stroking their furry heads like overgrown pets. Heinemann wasn’
t sure what they were called but “beast-things” is what Wilkins called them, and since he had been the first to set eyes on them, Heinemann figured he had earned the right to name them.
Newmont hurried toward them. “Doctor! We’ve had a change of plans. Can the beast-things safely be taken on an airplane?”
“They have never been on an airplane, Captain, but I think they would be fine. We have harnesses that we use to keep them under control.”
“And perhaps a sedative also, doctor?” Durand said.
“Yes, Maurice, a sedative might help.” Gautier turned back to Newmont. “But Captain, you said there was barely enough room for Maurice and me.”
“Like I said, doctor, we’ve had a change of plans. Your pickup plane was damaged. The pilot thinks he can take the German transport out instead. Can you get them ready right now?”
“Mais oui, Capitaine! Maurice, get the harnesses ready. I will prepare a sedative. We must hurry!”
Newmont addressed Heinemann. “Bull, we have no time to waste. Get them to the airplane immediately.”
“On it, Captain.” Heinemann looked at the two Frenchmen. “Let’s move gentlemen, or else…” He removed the magazine from his submachine gun and slammed a full one in.
Stirling, with Adler’s translations, had identified the essential controls and instruments he needed to get into the air and stay there. The words of his first flight instructor came back to him: Even though all aircraft are different in their handling, the fundamentals of operation are similar. The knobs, dials, levers, and doodads may look different from airplane to airplane, but they perform the same functions. Stirling hoped the man was right.
Stirling had Renaurd and his three companions top off the fuel tanks using a hand pump and gas from steel drums they found near the storage tent. Marcel and Andre had earlier moved the MG42 from the hiding spot under the transport’s fuselage to the front of the villa, where they set up a defensive line with Pierre and Michel.
The Devil's Claw Page 3